Note:- You can skip to next chapter,9 to continue with the fantasy ride.
The sun broke gently over Lake Manasarovar, scattering ripples of fire across its surface. Dilli stood at the shore, his palms cupping the icy water. When he poured it over his head, a shiver pierced his spine, but his mind remained restless.
"This water is said to cleanse lifetimes of sin," he thought, staring at his reflection. "But why do my doubts still cling to me like shadows?"
Behind him, pilgrims were preparing to leave, their chants mingling with the flapping of prayer flags.
An older Tibetan guide, Tenzin, walked past and said with a smile,
"Don't think too much, my friend. The mountain answers only those who walk."
Dilli managed a nod, but inside, he wondered whether the mountain would answer him at all.
Chiu Gompa:-
The trail wound steeply to Chiu Gompa, the monastery perched high above the lake. A monk draped in maroon robes handed Dilli a butter lamp.
"Light this," the monk whispered, "and pray for your heart's truth."
Dilli placed the lamp before an image of Shiva, but the words that rose from within him were not prayers—they were confessions.
"Shiva, I loved my woman once with all my heart, and still I cannot let her go. Yet I seek You too. Am I betraying love by seeking God, or betraying You by still longing for her?"
The monk looked at him curiously. "You are troubled."
"Yes," Dilli admitted. "About love. About life. About whether faith is real."
The monk chuckled softly. "Good. Questions are the first offerings. Answers are gifts of the journey."
Darchen – The Gateway:-
After hours of walking, the group arrived at Darchen, the village at the base of Kailash. Dust swirled through the streets as pilgrims bartered for yak rides and tents.
That night, Dilli sat by a fire with strangers—an old Nepali man, a woman from Ladakh, and two young men from Karnataka.
The Nepali sighed. "I walk for my wife. Cancer eats her. If I reach Kailash, maybe the gods will spare her."
The Ladakhi woman spoke next, eyes glistening. "My husband left me. I come here to bury his memory at the mountain's feet."
The Karnataka boys laughed lightly. "We are here for adventure, brother. And maybe enlightenment if it comes cheap."
They all turned to Dilli. "And you? Why are you here?"
Dilli hesitated, then murmured, "To find my God. And to understand whether struggle is a path—or a chain."
The group fell silent. The fire crackled. In the stillness, Dilli felt the weight of his own words.
Tarboche and the Winds:-
The next morning they passed Tarboche, where thousands of prayer flags fluttered like restless souls. Dilli tied a strip of cloth torn from his own shirt.
"Your vow?" Tenzin asked.
Dilli whispered, "To walk until I can no longer."
But the mountain tested him swiftly. The air grew thinner, each breath like sucking through a straw. His chest burned, his vision blurred. By afternoon, a snow flurry rose without warning, blinding the path.
A fellow pilgrim slipped, rolling down toward sharp rocks. Dilli grabbed the man's arm just in time, his own ankle twisting painfully under the strain.
"Thank you," the man gasped, trembling.
But Dilli thought bitterly, I can save another man's body, yet I cannot save my own heart.
Dirapuk – The North Face:-
By evening, they reached Dirapuk Monastery, where Kailash's north face loomed like a colossal guardian. Pilgrims fell to their knees, weeping, chanting, bowing.
Dilli only stared. The mountain stood silent, eternal, unmoved.
That night in the tent, Tenzin warned them: "Tomorrow is hardest. Dolma La. Many turn back. Many break. Some… never return."
Sleep evaded Dilli. He whispered into the cold, "Shiva, is Chitti my test or my guide? If I let her memory go, will You appear? Or is she the very form You chose to reach me? Are my father's financial struggles a path for me to unlock my potential and rise high to the peak? Are they chains holding me down restricting my freedom?"
The silence answered nothing.
Toward Dolma La:-
Morning brought cruel winds. The trail narrowed to icy ridges and glacial streams. Yaks stumbled, pilgrims clutched prayer beads tighter.
Dilli's twisted ankle throbbed with every step. Near a frozen stream, he slipped, slamming against a rock. Pain shot through his body, and despair clawed at him.
"Why am I here? For a god who never speaks? For a love that haunts me? For parents who wait for me back in Atreyapuram?"
But when he lifted his gaze, he saw it—the foot of Kailash, sheer and impossible, where the path itself surrendered to the mountain.
The Surrender
He limped to the base, knees sinking into the snow. His body shook with exhaustion, but his heart pounded with something greater—raw, wordless surrender.
"I do not understand love. I do not understand life. I do not even understand You." His voice broke in the wind. "But I am here. Take me as I am."
The wind howled, carrying his words into the heights. The mountain gave no reply, yet its silence felt different now—not rejection, but recognition.
Dilli bowed his head against the frozen earth. For the first time, he stopped demanding answers. He simply rested in the presence of the eternal.
And in that moment, amidst pain and confusion, he felt a strange peace: the peace of having reached the foot of the eternal mountain.